Asylum
by happycabbage75
Summary: Matt gets information on a new source that might help take down Fisk, but nothing is ever easy in Hell's Kitchen. Set between 1.12 and 1.13
1. Chapter 1

**Asylum**

 _As usual, I was working on something else when this story just sort of happened. Daredevil snuck up on me and pounced._

Chapter One

* * *

Matt knew he wasn't going to make it. There was just no way. He'd been shot and the police were right behind him.

He couldn't get back to his apartment and he was too far from the office. That didn't change the fact that he had only a few more minutes of consciousness.

The only place close enough was the church. He didn't want to, but he was out of options. As Matt approached, he could hear a woman inside praying for a sick child. Even if he took off the mask, he knew he couldn't simply saunter past her and hope she didn't notice, so he went to plan B, or at this point he was closer to plan D… E… F… He wasn't even sure.

Matt staggered past the main entrance to the church toward the rectory. He spared a precious second to listen. There were two nuns in a farther, separate section of the building. One was sleeping. The other was in her room reading, and drinking a cup of tea. Father Lantom was closer, also still awake despite the late hour. He was kneeling at prayer. Matt could hear the tiny clack of the rosary beads in his hands as well as the creak of the wooden prie-dieu beneath his weight.

Normally, desperate times meant he would break in the door to get inside and out of sight of the police. He couldn't do that with nuns in the building. Nuns were allowed to scare you. You weren't allowed to scare them.

Matt tapped on the window to Father Lantom's room. The priest startled and turned toward the window. He crossed himself hurriedly and rose from the kneeler. The room was small and it only took him a moment to get to the window and raise the sash.

"Matthew?" he asked warily.

Matt had never wanted Father Lantom to see him in his other work suit. He never wanted to bring the Devil to the steps of the church, but like so many things of late, nothing seemed to happen the way he wanted.

"F-father… M… May I come inside?"

The priest looked past him and Matt knew the exact moment Father Lantom heard the sirens and realized who they were looking for. He didn't move, but his already fast heart rate skipped just a little faster.

"Please, Father. I ju… just need a few minutes to regroup."

Father Lantom frowned in disapproval. Nevertheless, he moved aside and allowed Matt to fall less than gracefully through the window onto the floor. Matt considered trying to get up, then reconsidered. The floor was awfully nice… supportive, even, which he really needed right now.

Lantom crouched down beside him, the cracking of his aged knees the only sound other than Matt's labored breathing. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Matthew?"

"Not really feeling… up to a… latte right now, Father."

"The police are on my doorstep, Matthew," he replied gravely, authority ringing in his tone. He didn't use it often when they spoke, but apparently bloodied men hiding from the cops brought it out. "Not really the time for levity."

"I tried… I tried to save her," Matt said breathlessly. "I tried…"

Father Lantom hung his head, understanding from the phrasing that no matter how he'd tried, Matt had most definitely failed. Lantom gave his shoulder a gentle pat. "All right, son." He reached to a nearby table and pulled the cloth from it. He pressed the fabric to Matt's bleeding side. "The sisters are going to kill me for ruining their good tablecloth. I hope you appreciate that."

Matt smiled tightly. He was well aware of how dangerous it was to draw a nun's ire. "Sorry," he answered, and meant it. It seemed like he was saying that a lot lately. Foggy still wasn't talking to him. Claire had made it clear that she was medical personnel only. Mrs. Cardenas… Ben… too many others, some guilty, some not… On and on…

"So you want to tell me how this happened?"

Matt sighed, exhaustion, pain, and yet another beating pulling him down, so far down he could barely see the light at the end of the tunnel. Not that he could see the light or the tunnel.

"Client," he murmured. Matt felt the priest pull the mask from his face. He let out the barest chuff of a laugh. "Lost F-Foggy, but found a client."

* * *

 **Twenty-Four Hours Earlier**

"…the pit just keeps getting… getting deeper, you know…"

Matt tried desperately to maintain his iron control, but it was slipping faster and faster with every word he let fall from his lips.

"I… I can't… I can't do this alone." Karen didn't even know what "this" was. The half-truths and the omissions to keep her in the dark were yet another weight bearing down on him. "I can't… I c- I can't take… another step."

What little control he had left disappeared as Karen hurried toward him and held him close.

Part of how Matt handled his blindness was to keep everyone else as blind about his feelings as he was physically about them. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and for once allowed himself to feel, allowed his weariness, his hopelessness and loneliness to overwhelm him. He allowed it to actually show.

"You're not alone, Matt. You never were."

The sound he let out was perilously close to a sob and he immediately stifled it. Instead he focused on the woman in his arms. His senses had informed him about her in the abstract, but it was an entirely different thing to have her lithe form pressed against him. He could add physical knowledge to his conceptual understanding, feel her muscles as they moved beneath her skin, feel the silk of her hair against his cheek, feel her gently perfumed skin against his.

She held him and Matt allowed himself to take the comfort she offered, to draw strength from her. No, she didn't understand everything he was facing, or what he was trying to accomplish, but she backed him nevertheless, even when he'd been beaten to a pulp and hid things from her.

"It'll be okay, Matt," she whispered. "We have to believe that."

He wanted to believe it. With Karen holding him close, he almost could. Almost. She seemed so sure.

They both jumped apart at the sound of someone frantically knocking on the office door. "Hello? Anyone there?" The man banged on the door again making it rattle in its frame. "Hello?"

Karen hurriedly wiped the traces of tears from her face, and moved toward the door. She was looking at him, though, and Matt did everything he could to pull himself together. He chose to focus on the person outside. The man was afraid, nervously shifting from foot to foot. He was big, though. His body displaced a lot of air. Not just tall, but big and solid.

Karen opened the door and the man scooted inside like hounds were nipping at his heels. "Are you the lawyer?" he asked without preamble. He was wearing jeans and a button down shirt, both expensive. "Must be," he said to himself, making a gesture toward Matt's glasses.

"Matthew Murdock." He held out his hand for the man to take, but the guy actually walked toward him and grabbed his arm, pulling toward his office.

"This your office? We need to talk."

Matt forced himself not to react violently, although that was definitely his first reaction. Instead, he twisted out of the man's grasp and turned, bringing him to halt still in the main entry room.

"It's well past normal business hours, Mr…"

"Timothy Thomas," the man said. "I really don't have time for chit chat. I need your help. I knew it was a long shot, but I was just praying somebody would be here."

"Most people call first," Matt replied, his tone flat. He had enough going on in his life to pressure him. He didn't really care to add something else. Still, if the man needed help…

"I couldn't. She checks my call history." He looked at his watch nervously.

Matt pointed toward the conference room. "Let's go in here." He half-turned toward Karen. "If you'll join us?"

"Of course," Karen said, already heading for her desk and the closest legal pad.

Mr. Thomas hurried into the conference room and plunked himself in a seat, clearly impatient at Matt's slower pace. Matt had sometimes found his blindness useful for taking up time, or adding pauses to situations where someone was trying to rush things. He took a seat and Karen followed. She looked toward Foggy's empty spot and Matt knew she was feeling his absence just as much as Matt was.

"Now," Matt began, "how can we help you?"

"I was arrested for domestic battery," Mr. Thomas began, "and I need you to make the charges go away."

"The police and the prosecutor set the charges, Mr. Thomas. They don't just go away. Our firm can, however, look into the case and defend you, if we see fit."

"But I didn't do anything!" Mr. Thomas said, a bit too loudly. "Look, this is the third time I've been arrested and I didn't do anything other than protect myself. She's crazy! But the cops come in and take one look at me and the handcuffs come out."

"They look at you?" Matt asked, wondering if he was missing something other than that Mr. Thomas was a large, burly man.

"Mr. Thomas is very tall," Karen explained, stepping in for Foggy's normal descriptive patter. "He's also very fit. He's…" She hesitated, obviously not wanting to insult their potential client.

"I'm scary looking," Mr. Thomas said. "I'm big, muscle-y, bald, and I have a scar on my cheek from a fight I had with Franky, er… Francine a couple of years ago. She cut me with her ring."

"It sounds like you two have a very… volatile relationship, Mr. Thomas." Matt kept his tone even. If this guy really was that volatile, he might get angry at being told so. Nevertheless, Matt had no intention of defending a wife beater.

"Like I said, she's crazy. Stalker-type crazy. I've tried to leave and she won't let me. I try to tell the cops and they won't believe that somebody who looks like me can't get rid of a hundred twenty pound woman." He jerked a thumb at his chest. "My mom raised me never to hit a woman and I won't, not even one who's nuts. I defend myself, but that's it."

"Your wife has pressed charges?"

"No," the man said miserably, "but there were marks on her from me trying to keep her off me."

"Ah," Matt said. In many states, the laws had been changed so that whether a battery victim wanted to press charges or not, if there were visible signs of injury, the police were required to make an arrest. It kept the blame from falling on a battered housewife when the cops took her husband away. It also made sure the batterer went to jail no matter how many excuses the victim might be willing to make. The "It was my fault," or "I fell," or "You can't take him away. I love him," and on and on. The law just said if there were marks, you made an arrest.

Matt had been listening intently as the man spoke. There were no telltale signs he was lying. He was upset, but there were no muscle twitches, no changes in heart rate, no eye movement, nothing that said he was making it up.

Karen passed Mr. Thomas a piece of paper and a pen. "Full names, dates of birth, address, and dates of the incidents if you can remember," she said.

The man began scribbling out the information quickly. "She wasn't always so crazy," he offered. "Just over the years her temper… It's just got worse and worse and then she started keeping track of everywhere I went and then…"

He jumped when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled his cell out, took one look at the screen, and immediately stood. "I gotta go. She's on her way back. If she finds out I left the apartment while she was gone, she'll be pissed."

Mr. Thomas was already halfway to the door before Matt made a quick decision and followed. "Wait. I'll come with you. We can talk on the way."

"Matt?" Karen said nervously. She clearly didn't like this idea, but Matt just shook his head. "I'll be fine. If you could put in a request for the police reports for Mr. Thomas?" He remembered how late it was and added, "In the morning? Lock up when you leave?"

"Call me," she ordered, "after you're done talking with him." Apparently, she'd decided to take over all of Foggy's duties, including incessantly worrying he couldn't get home by himself.

Matt nodded, turned back toward the door and realized Mr. Thomas was already gone. He grabbed his cane and hurried through the door. Once out of Karen's line of sight, he broke into a jog to catch up. The guy wasn't kidding about being under his wife's thumb. He was hustling like a man on a mission.

"Mr. Thomas, wait," Matt called once he hit the sidewalk. He made a token effort at using his cane as he caught up. His client barely paused, however.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to wait for you. Her boss called her in to work for some kind of emergency. That's the only reason I could come here. I was expecting it to take a little longer, but I should've known I wouldn't be that lucky."

"Where does she work?"

"Silver and Brent. It's a financial group. Financial advising. Accounting and stuff."

Matt's step stuttered at the name. "I'm familiar with them. Who… who's her boss?"

"A guy named Owlsley."

* * *

 _Well… Hopefully that's enough to pique your interest? More soon…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

It took all Matt had not to react to Owlsley's name. It was like everyone, everything, kept circling back. Fisk's associates had their fingers in nearly every pie in Hell's Kitchen, and everywhere Matt turned, he ran into them again and again.

"Does your wife work a lot of odd hours?" he asked. When Mr. Thomas shot him a funny look, he added, "If that's how we need to meet with you, we can make arrangements."

"Yeah," he said, after a few seconds. "Ok. Her boss calls her at weird hours sometimes, and she has to go in to the office to set up transfers and things like that." He shrugged. "She never really talks about it. She just says she has to leave."

"Is that how you get time to yourself? It sounds like she's very… controlling."

"Franky- Francine doesn't ever give me a break. Even when she goes out, she'll leave me a list of stuff she wants done before she gets back. I had to pay a guy in the next apartment to vacuum while I was gone to cover for me." He waved his hand toward the sky, as if Matt could see it. "At this time of night. You believe that?"

"I believe you," Matt replied, his mind skimming through the new information. This new name, Francine, gave him someone else he could try to _encourage_ into talking, if not to the authorities, then at least to give up some information. "You mind telling me how you picked our firm?" he inquired. "We're not exactly household names and there are a lot of lawyers out there."

"My cousin. She used to live in the same building as Elena Cardenas. They were friends and she told me about what you guys tried to do. My cousin took the money before the building blew, but still… She said you guys seemed on the up and up."

Matt nodded. Helping Mrs. Cardenas hadn't helped her at all, but it had resulted in word getting around about their firm.

"Francine… the last time I talked to a lawyer, a divorce lawyer that time, she found out, made a few calls and the guy wouldn't even answer the phone after that. That's when she started checking the call log on my phone," Mr. Thomas said wearily. "This last fight was because I got one of those cheap pay-as-you-go phones and she found it where I'd hidden it in my briefcase. I… I'm not sure what to do other than run for it and change my name or something."

The man saw a cab approaching and held up his hand to get the driver's attention. "Look," he said, "I really have to go."

"I know you left the details with Miss Page, but if you'll give me your address, Mr. Thomas, I'll go ahead and see what I can find tonight."

"Call me Tim," he said as the cab pulled to a stop. "And that's fine. Just don't let her find out," he warned and gave him the address. It was a much nicer neighborhood, well outside Hell's Kitchen. Working for Leland Owlsley certainly seemed to pay well.

Matt held out his hand for the man to shake. "Call the office if you get a chance. Use a payphone. We can give you updates that way."

"I'll do the best I can." Timothy frowned. "I can't call from work either. I work at an insurance company and they'd love to have a reason to fire me. I can't see clients since… this." He gestured toward the scar on his face, forgetting Matt wasn't supposed to be able to see him. "It makes them uncomfortable. I'm just a paper pusher now. Still, Franky calls several times a day to 'check in.' It's getting to the point that my boss is noticing and he's going to get rid of me."

"We'll look into it as quickly and quietly as possible," Matt assured him.

"Thanks." Timothy jumped into the cab and it pulled away from the curb.

Matt was left standing alone on the sidewalk. He simply stood there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city around him as he decided what to do next.

Matt pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Call Karen." He waited for the phone to dial and almost smiled when it was picked up halfway through the first ring.

" _Matt_?"

"I'm fine, Karen. He ditched me after a few blocks. I was slowing him down."

Karen sighed, and it sounded like relief. " _Are you going to come back here_?"

"No. I think I'll head home. Been a long day." It was the absolute truth, he realized. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Matt remembered their conversation before Mr. Thomas had interrupted them. "I, um… Thanks… for earlier." He pursed his lips, feeling beyond awkward.

" _I just told you the truth, Matt. We're in this together_."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Karen. Get some rest."

She paused, then took a breath like she wanted to say something, but then didn't. She paused again and finally said, " _Goodnight_."

She hung up before Matt could ask what it was about. He tucked his phone away and decided he would follow his own advice and get some rest. Stick would no doubt tell him to suck it up, but at the moment Matt didn't want to even think about his former mentor and his lessons. Francine was heading home to Timothy and he wouldn't be able to get any useful information other than the two were massively dysfunctional. He could nose around on the internet and see if he could find anything, although he doubted there would be anything useful there either. Tomorrow morning, however, he would follow her to work, listen. More importantly, he would follow her after work and maybe have a chat.

* * *

"Karen… Karen… Karen."

Matt pulled his phone out of his suit jacket. He'd followed Francine to work and hadn't learned anything more important than she had a very complicated coffee order, she smelled like hyacinth and stress, and she walked like she was marching into battle. All of her cell calls had been work related, but nothing that seemed interesting. She hadn't talked to Owlsley or mentioned him.

"Hi, Karen. Sorry I'm late. I went to check out-"

" _Have… have you talked to Ben?_ " she asked, cutting him off.

"No," he answered warily. "Should I have?"

" _It's just… He got fired yesterday_."

"What?"

" _He was ok with it though. They were blocking his story. He was going to post everything last night. Start a blog or something, and post everything we've learned. He was supposed to send me a link as soon as it was up. I've been up most of the night, but he hasn't sent anything. He would have sent it. He would have called me probably too to get my reaction_." She was talking faster and faster, and her voice was rising in worry. " _I've been trying to call him all morning, but he's not answering. I called the place where he visits his wife and he isn't there either. I even called his office to see if he'd gone to pick up something he left behind, and… and…_ "

"Karen, breathe," Matt said calmly. "Just slow down and breathe, all right?" It didn't matter that a pit had just formed in his stomach and he was imagining every horrible scenario, everything that might have happened to Ben for deciding to stick his neck out.

" _What if something happened to him_?" she whispered. There were tears in her voice and it made it so much worse, because Matt had a sinking feeling there would be more tears soon.

"Are you at the office?"

" _Yes_."

"I'll stop by his apartment before I come in, ok?"

" _All right_ ," she answered and rattled off the address. " _Thank you_."

It was a testament to how worried she was that it didn't even occur to her how difficult it would be for a blind person to find a new address and then figure out how to get into an apartment building. All buildings had slightly different systems for getting past locked entryways, different ways to get buzzed in.

It took him twenty minutes to find the building. He "saw" the board of names and buttons meant for calling up to the correct apartment to let them buzz you in. Since he had no way of finding the correct one, he picked one at random. There was no answer. Nothing at the second either, which wasn't unexpected since most people would be at work. He finally got an answer with the third.

"Yeah?" a voice said through the intercom. He sounded like a middle aged guy, slightly annoyed at being bothered.

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. I'm trying to get in to see my friend, but I'm blind and I can't read the name tags on the buzzers. Can you help me?"

"Sure, pal. Pull the other one," he replied.

"Can you look out a window?"

The man sighed, but Matt heard receding steps, he hoped heading for a window. Matt stepped back from the doorway so he would be visible. When a window opened above him, Matt pretended not to know.

"Yo, Blind Dude, up here!"

Matt half turned in the direction of the voice, and although he could pinpoint the exact altitude and distance the sound was coming from, he made a show of searching. "You'll have to be more specific!" he called, holding up his cane as well.

"Well, crap," the man muttered, not knowing Matt could hear him. He disappeared back inside his apartment and a moment later, Matt heard the door lock click open.

Matt hurried inside and up the stairs, but the higher he climbed, the more his step slowed. The smell was getting stronger and stronger the closer he got to Ben's apartment. Matt knew that smell. He should. He'd smelled it often enough now. It would take a couple of days before the neighbors noticed it, but Matt was way ahead of the curve. Bile rose in his throat and he fought not to retch at the knowledge of what he was going to find inside.

Matt stopped outside Ben's apartment. He leaned his forehead against the door and had the urge to bang his head against the wood. He was torn between knocking the door down and simply sinking to the ground beside it, defeat once again weighing on his shoulders. This was different than what he'd seen the day before with the Chinese heroin operation. This… this was a personal failure, a _personal_ loss.

Matt reached into his pocket for his phone and forced his hoarse voice into action. "Call 911."

* * *

 _More soon…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Last chapter, poor Matt had just found Ben... On we go..._

Chapter Three

* * *

Matt hadn't needed to call 911 if there was any indication by how quickly two policemen showed up. They were Fisk's men and they already knew Ben was dead. When they came upstairs, to save time, they'd already found the Super and brought him up to open the door so they didn't have to break it. They were completely unsurprised to find Ben's body on the floor.

Matt knew there wouldn't be anything left behind in Ben's apartment either. It had been swept clean by Fisk's people. Matt had no doubt all of Ben research was gone and all evidence of the killer was gone as well. He could still smell traces of the three person crew who'd done the work. Matt wasn't sure why they'd bothered. It wasn't like the police were going to actually look into the murder. He wasn't even sure they would have gone through the motions if he hadn't been standing there.

One of the officers took his name in a token effort to add the information to his report and then Matt was encouraged to leave. He was in their way and that, Matt supposed, was the one truthful thing they'd said.

Matt made his way downstairs and stood outside, unsure what to do next. He was so angry he could barely think. He wanted to go back upstairs and scream and punch and order the men to honor the oath they'd taken as policemen. He wanted to hunt Fisk down and kill him where he stood. The man was a murderer and Matt couldn't find any other way to stop him.

Matt pulled his phone from his pocket. "Call Foggy."

The phone rang and after a few seconds went to voicemail. Matt had no doubt Foggy had seen his name and rejected the call.

"Foggy, Ben's dead," Matt said without preamble. "I'm on my way to the office to tell Karen. You two knew him better and she'll… she'll want to talk to someone and… and you're better at that than I am, so… if you could… She'll need you… when you get this."

Matt ended the call, gritting his teeth. He hated this widening gulf between them, especially now, when they needed to stick together. Foggy had been his one constant in all these years and Matt felt adrift without him to anchor him to the rest of humanity.

Matt sighed and squared his shoulders. Karen. He needed to get to the office and tell her before she got the news some other way.

* * *

The office door was locked again when he got there. "Karen?" He knocked tentatively, half-hoping she was no longer there, or that she wouldn't hear him, or… something. He knew she was inside though. He could hear her heartbeat, smell her. She was pacing back and forth in front of her desk.

Karen jerked the door open, eager for news, but one look at him was enough. Karen backed away from the door until she bumped into her desk. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth, the scent of tears suddenly heavy in the air.

"I'm sorry," Matt said quietly. "Someone got to him last night." Karen let out a quiet sob. "The… the police are there. I gu… I guess they will handle telling his family."

Karen made a groaning noise, a sound so filled with pain and loss and frustration that Matt had no notion of how to comfort her. He set his cane in the corner as he usually did and stepped toward her, still hesitating.

"I did this," she whispered under her breath. "I pushed him. I-"

Whatever else she was going to say was lost in another sob. Karen was still half-sitting on the edge of her desk. He moved closer and put his arms around her. She buried her face against his chest and wept. Matt didn't allow himself any such luxury. He remained calm, stoic in the face of her misery. This was his fault for not stopping Fisk already. He had no right to grieve.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, over and over. "We'll find who did this. This isn't over."

They remained that way for long minutes until finally Karen began to calm. She pulled away, embarrassed at her breakdown and began wiping her face with her sleeves. He knew she was looking at him, unsure how to act. The lines blurring between boss and employee, co-conspirators, friends… It was all a bit messy and awkward. Normally, Matt relied on Foggy to help smooth these things over.

"Does Foggy know?" she asked, her thoughts probably following along the same lines.

"I had to leave a message," he answered.

"Maybe," she looked down, "maybe I should call." Matt could hear what she wasn't saying. It hurt to say out loud that Foggy would take her call, but not Matt's.

"Ok," was all he managed to get out.

Karen walked behind her desk, still brushing tears aside as she picked up her phone, but she needn't have bothered. They hadn't relocked the door and it burst open as Karen was dialing. It was a testament to how far Matt had crawled inside his own head that he hadn't heard Foggy coming down the hall. Matt chastised himself furiously for being so off his game. Ben was dead and it was his fault. That was no excuse for getting distracted. That was how more people got hurt.

Foggy stopped in the middle of the room. He was red-faced and out of breath. "What _happened_?" he demanded, his head swiveling back and forth between Karen and Matt.

"Last night," Karen began, a fresh set of tears appearing, "Ben was going to post his story online. He was supposed to let me know when it was posted, but he never did."

"He was going to post it online?" Foggy asked in confusion.

"He was fired yesterday," Matt explained.

"But-"

"It doesn't matter," Karen said, wiping at her runny nose. "They couldn't let the story get out. Firing him wasn't enough. They had to kill him to keep him from doing anything else. Nothing we do matters."

"Don't say that," Matt said quietly. "We're not done yet."

"Aren't we?" Karen shot back angrily. "Ben's dead, Matt, and we… _I_ … did that. I tricked him into going to that nursing home… He didn't want to…"

Once again, she dissolved into tears and unlike Matt, Foggy didn't hesitate. He rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her close and rubbed her back to comfort her.

"What happened?" he asked again, more quietly this time, his eyes on Matt.

"I found him in his apartment this morning."

" _You_ found him?"

He was clearly asking if Matt had found him or if his alter ego had.

"Karen was worried. She asked me to check his apartment," he replied evenly. "I called the police. He'd been…," he hesitated to say it, "he was strangled."

Foggy closed his eyes at the information and held tighter to Karen.

"I'm sorry," Matt said. "If I'd known…"

"You what?" Foggy spat angrily.

"If I'd known… I didn't know what he was going to do. I cou… I could have watched…" Matt felt perilously close to a repeat of the night before. He couldn't afford another breakdown. Stick was wrong about a lot of things, but not everything. Ben was dead and Matt couldn't let his emotions overwhelm him, not now.

"I think you've done enough," Foggy said through clenched teeth. The venom in his voice hurt as much as anything else. Matt knew he was angry and the shock of Ben's death would have only magnified his feelings.

"I should go." Matt turned his head away from them, as if that would help. He could still "see" them thanks to his senses. He never had the luxury of turning away from an unwanted sight. His senses still recreated the entire room in the aggregate, all plain as day for him to see, including Foggy's disdain and Karen's broken heart.

"What?" Karen turned in Foggy's arms. "Matt, wait."

Matt couldn't bear it any longer. He hurried toward his cane in the corner and opened the door. "Let me know… once you hear about the funeral arrangements," he said, and rushed out the door. He made no pretense of using his cane. He had to be fast. Karen was walking to the door to try to stop him and he had to leave. Instead of going downstairs as she would expect, he went up, up to the roof. From there, he could go almost anywhere in the city.

Tonight… tonight, he had an appointment with Francine Thomas of Silver & Brent. She was going to talk, whether she knew it or not.

* * *

 _More soon…_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

* * *

Matt picked Francine out almost as soon as she exited the building. He wasn't in Hell's Kitchen anymore, and the fancier buildings were spaced farther apart, but he could still move well enough in the dark.

He'd spent most of the afternoon atop a building across the street, filtering everything else out and focusing on her offices to listen in. There was a flurry of activity as money was moved in and out of accounts. Matt didn't understand exactly what was happening, but he could tell that even for a group of people used to unusual financial transactions this was different. The tension levels were too high and there was too much whispering.

"Are you sure about that?" one would whisper.

"That's what he said," was the response, followed by head-shaking and paper shredding.

Matt wondered how much of this was because of the heroine business going under. They would have to shift assets to cover what the drugs paid for, find ways to legitimize what they were up to. It took a large team to work on the accounts and Matt listened, trying to see how much any one person knew about the entire operation. It appeared things were very compartmentalized. Owlsley would know better than to let one person know too much. Francine Thomas, however, was a coordinator and knew more than most, which was excellent news for Matt's purposes.

Late in the day, well after dark and past time all good cubicle-dwellers had gone home, Francine's desk phone rang. She picked it up and immediately stopped everything else. Up until that moment, she had taken numerous calls, all while continuing to type, text, take notes, etc. She had also called her husband twice to ensure that he was still at work, giving him a list of things he was supposed to do before she got home. Matt guessed the caller ID made the difference and focused his senses with laser-like precision so as not to miss a single word of the call.

" _Ms. Thomas,"_ the voice on the phone said, _"I am very disappointed."_

Matt instantly recognized Owlsley's voice even though it was very faint and almost beyond even his abilities to hear. Francine sat up straight in her chair, bristling with tension. She didn't like Owlsley's tone any better than Matt did.

"I'm sorry, sir. What's the matter?"

" _I've trusted you with a great deal."_

"Yes, sir," she said warily. "I've worked very hard to earn your trust. I would never do anything to jeopardize that."

" _And yet I've received a report of your husband meeting late at night with those two nosy lawyers who've been poking around in our business ever since Union Allied became an issue. Is there something you want to tell me?"_

"He went to a lawyer?" She couldn't hide the fury in her voice. "That… that… I'll _kill_ him for this."

Matt wasn't entirely sure that was meant as hyperbole. There were more immediate problems, however. Someone was either watching their office or they were keeping tabs on Francine and her husband. He wondered if they kept tabs on all their upper-level employees.

" _Ms. Thomas, I wouldn't recommend another domestic incident. Taking care of the charges is tiresome and it won't happen again. The fact that your husband sought out those lawyers, amongst all the lawyers in this city tells me that you have been indiscreet and he knows more than he should."_

"That idiot doesn't know anything," Francine said desperately. "I barely trust him with the vacuuming, let alone something important."

" _Your services are no longer required, Ms. Thomas. You have half an hour to vacate the building."_ Even as he said it, a security guard opened her office door and stood there, Matt presumed, to watch her gather her things and then escort her out.

For a moment, Francine remained seated, frozen at her desk, then she set the phone back in its cradle and picked up her cell phone. Her husband answered and for the next few minutes, she let out a blistering slew of names, curses, and threats that made Matt think he would need to go to confession just for having heard them.

While she reamed her husband, she gathered her meager personal items and shoved them into a hard-shell briefcase. Finally, she hung up on her sputtering husband and marched toward the door, practically shoving the guard out of the way.

Matt used the time it would take her to get downstairs to call Timothy. Matt knew something neither of the Thomases did. Men like Fisk and Owlsley didn't leave dead ends, especially ones that knew potentially damning information.

" _Hello?"_

"Mr. Thomas, this is Matthew Murdock."

" _Oh_ ," the man said glumly. " _I suppose Franky called to warn you off. Well-"_

"There's no time, Timothy. Are you already home?"

" _No. Francine told me to go to the grocery. I'm on my way home now."_

"Do not go home… Or anywhere you normally would."

" _What? Is this some kind of joke?"_

"Your wife works for dangerous men, Mr. Thomas, and they think either you came to us because you found out something, or your wife sent you to us to be an informant."

" _What are you talking about? What dangerous men?"_

"She's a mob accountant." It was a gross oversimplification, but it would get the point across. "And they think you're informing on them, Tim. You can't go home. They will be looking for you there."

" _But-"_

"Turn your cell phone off. Get a cheap burner phone and call me at this number to tell me your new one." Matt made a mental note that he was going to have to get a new phone after this, but it had to be done. "Find a hotel where you've never stayed and use cash to pay for the room. You will have to stay there until we can figure something out."

" _How long will that be?"_

"Not long, I hope." Matt ground his teeth. Hope was running a little thin at this point, but there was no other choice. He couldn't watch two people at once, and he already had eyes, so to speak, on Francine.

" _What about Franky?"_ Tim asked.

"I'm trying to get her out, too. Just do what I've told you. Hurry."

" _I… Um…_ _Ok_ ," Tim said and hung up. Matt frowned thinking the man's relatively easy acceptance was a testament to years of abusive training by his wife to follow orders without question.

Francine appeared down at the building's main entrance and began her usual marching walk in the direction of the nearest subway station. She didn't realize that as soon as she'd stepped outside, she'd picked up a tail. Matt guessed they either planned to follow her home and kill both her and her husband, or they planned for her to meet with a tragic accident on her way there.

Matt vaulted onto the next building, and then another to get ahead of them to the nearest one that had a usable fire escape. That was one problem with the fancy buildings in this part of town, all glass and no ladders. Matt slid his way down the fire escape into the long alley between buildings and waited for her to pass by. As soon as she was within grabbing distance, he jerked her into the alley away from the lights.

She fought him angrily, getting in a good smack to the side of his head with her briefcase. His ears ringing, he clapped his hand over her mouth and forced her deeper into the alley's shadows.

"You're being followed, Francine," he hissed.

She stopped struggling at the use of her given name. He eased up a bit and she said, definitely too loudly, "What are you talking about?"

"Your boss sent someone to kill you. Now shut up."

"Are you crazy?" she demanded. "You're that freak who's been running around Hell's Kitchen. "I don't have to-"

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley. The man stepped farther in. He reached into his jacket and when he let his arm fall back to his side, he had a gun in hand.

Matt and Francine remained perfectly still, hidden in the darkness.

"There's no need to make this harder," the man called. "I saw you come in here and-"

Matt his fast and hit hard. He was good, but bullets had a way of being too fast even for him. In a matter of seconds, the gunman was down and Matt dragged him farther into the alley, out of anyone's immediate line of sight.

"Francine?" Matt called.

In answer, Francine threw her briefcase at him and ran in the opposite direction toward the other end of the alley that opened onto the next block.

Matt batted the briefcase aside. It shouldn't be this much work to help someone. For a moment, he was tempted to simply let her go and leave her to her fate. After all, she wasn't exactly one of the good guys. Still, she had information that could bring down Fisk's operation, and Matt hurried after her.

He caught her before she got to the end of the alley. She fought like a caged rat, all teeth and claws and Matt could see why Timothy had been forced to knock her back. Matt pushed her into the side of the alley, his forearm hard across her throat. She continued to smack and scratch and hit, but Matt kept steady pressure until she was struggling for breath.

"We need to talk," he said calmly. "Don't hit me again or you won't like what happens. Do you understand?"

She nodded frantically and Matt eased up a bit. "You work for Leland Owlsley." Again she nodded. Matt released her and stepped back. "Do you handle Fisk's accounts?"

"Some." She coughed, rubbing at her neck. "I handle Mr. Owlsley's personal accounts, and I coordinate some of the work for Mr. Fisk. It takes a large team to keep the books for such a… diversified business."

Matt huffed. Diversified was definitely one way of looking at it. "That diversified business just put out a hit on you," Matt said, stating the obvious.

Francine shook her head. "Stupid, idiot husband had to go to those bleeding heart lawyers-"

"Focus," Matt snapped. "You need to turn yourself in. The Feds will put you in Witness Protection. You know where the money is and what they were doing with it. You know about the late night transfers when things started going wrong for Fisk in Hell's Kitchen."

Francine nodded. "Owlsley's moving all kinds of money in the last couple of days. Ever since Fisk's girlfriend got sick at that party and then when Mr. Wesley died."

"Died?"

"I was told to tag his accounts for any usage. There wasn't any and then I was ordered to roll his accounts into Mr. Fisk's. That can only mean he's dead."

Matt had been listening for anyone else following or for their original attacker to stir. He heard someone stop at the mouth of the alley just to one side.

"Quiet," he urged. He began edging toward the other end where it opened onto the next block, where Francine had been headed earlier.

A second later, bullets pinged off the stone only a few feet from them. He grabbed Francine's arm and ran. A rain of bullets followed and Matt felt one hit home like a punch to his right side, twisting him and nearly knocking him down as he ran. He stumbled forward, but kept going. Francine was ahead of him. Of all things, she was hailing a taxi. One stopped as he reached the end of the alley. Francine jumped in and Matt dove in behind her.

"Go, go go!" Francine ordered, and the cabbie hit the gas. A second later, however, he got one look at Matt and eased up.

"Whoa. I am not getting arrested for whatever dumb crap you're involved in."

"Just go!" Francine barked. "They're trying to kill me!" To emphasize her point, the second gunman reached the end of the alley and fired toward the slowly retreating taxi. He missed and the driver decided a faster exit was in order.

Francine gave the man an address inside Hell's Kitchen, which was the opposite way from her own apartment, so Matt let it pass for the moment. He was better on his home turf anyway. He let his head fall back and pressed his hand to his injured side.

It was his right side again. Claire had already patched up a stab wound and the nastiest wound Nobu had managed, both nearly in the same place on his side as the new bullet wound. Matt could practically hear Stick berating him. He kept injuring his right side because his movements had become too repetitive, too predictable. He must always turn in one direction. It was a weakness that left a potentially deadly opening in his defenses and he was going to have to work on that before it got him killed.

"The Feds," Matt said through gritted teeth. "Francine, you need to go to them now."

"Bastards tried to kill me," she snapped. "I'll tell the Feds, the national news, anyone who'll listen. I have files stashed and I will use them. _Nobody_ treats me like that."

"You two wanna tell me what's going on?" the driver demanded. "Gettin' shot at is not in my job description."

"My boss fired me, but that wasn't enough," she snarled. "He wants me dead, too."

"What kind of work you in?" he asked suspiciously.

"Accounting."

"Hmph." The driver nodded sagely. "That's what took down Al Capone. Always the money trail." He stopped talking to make a turn. "And you… Mr… Devil?"

"I just need to get her somewhere safe."

"Well, Hell's Kitchen's a good place to disappear," he muttered.

After that they all fell silent. Matt could hear Francine grinding her teeth. The driver kept casting nervous glances in the rearview mirror and Matt just tried to stay conscious. He'd been healing well from the disastrous fight with Nobu, but he still wasn't one hundred percent and now this. He was bleeding again and his chest was back to feeling like it was on fire. He had an entry and an exit wound, not too deep, but it had cut through muscle, nicking and cracking a pair of ribs. His body was just too abused to tolerate another hit like this.

"What…" Matt grimaced at the pain in his side. "What was the address you gave?"

"My sister's. She'll let me stay there."

Matt immediately shook his head. "They'll find you. You'll lead them right to your family." He stopped for a second to listen. They'd been driving for a while and they were back in Hell's Kitchen. He knew the sounds and smells of his home. He could pick out every block just by the scent of the different restaurants and businesses on each street.

"Stop the car," he ordered.

"Here?" Francine asked, appalled. It definitely wasn't the nicest part of town, not even the nicest part of Hell's Kitchen.

The driver pulled to the curb and Francine opened the door, hopping out. Matt braced to do the same.

"Whoa, now," the driver said, calling through the plastic window. "Sorry about your luck and all, but I still need to get paid."

Francine turned back to look at him and said, "I dropped my briefcase in the alley."

Matt shook his head at the absurdity of looking to a masked vigilante to produce cab fare. He actually kept a stash of twenties in one of the utility pockets in his pants just in case of an emergency. They folded flat, they were light, and they didn't impede his movement. He could find a shirt to cover his get-up, but he'd figured he might need a bit of money in case he ever had to go to ground for a night, or pay for a cab home because he was too hurt to walk. Turns out he did need it.

Matt got out of the cab and groaned. Claire was right. He needed that body armor, sooner rather than later.

"Good luck, man," the cabbie shouted and quickly drove off, anxious to be away from them. Matt pulled Francine toward a shadowed entryway to a closed business and let his senses stretch, seeking anything out of the ordinary.

"Why did we stop here?"

Matt pointed. "There's a no-tell motel just up the block. You can stay there for the night." He handed her the rest of the cash to pay for the room. "Call the Feds. A racketeering case this big, they'll come pick you up. They'll keep you safe."

And they'll take down Fisk, he silently added. This was it. This was going to work. After all their running around, all the loss, the heartache, they'd finally found someone angry and vengeful enough not to be afraid to tell the authorities everything they knew.

Matt waited where he was, silently watching as Francine marched down the block to the sleazy motel. She hurried inside and Matt listened as she approached the clerk.

"Whoo… Fancy lady… You need a room?"

"Watch your mouth, and yes."

"Geez. No need to get snotty, lady. Sign the book and cough up the cash."

Matt heard the pen scratching against paper. He skirted the edge of the building and began climbing the closest fire escape. He would go to the roof and play lookout until he knew Francine was safe in the hands of the authorities.

"Mandy Thompson," the clerk read. There was a pause. "Funny. You kinda look like a Francine to me."

Matt immediately changed course and dropped back to the ground. He shot out of the shadowed alley toward the motel. He ignored his wounded side. He ignored everything except getting to Francine in time.

"See I got a call a few minutes ago, that if a snooty lady named Francine showed up, I was supposed to take care of business. That it would be worth my while. Seems they saw you hanging out with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and thought maybe you'd try to go to ground around here. They passed the word to all the hotel's around here, but looks like I got lucky, huh?"

Matt heard the hammer of a gun pulled back and pushed himself harder. He came through the door just in time to hear the shot, to see Francine fall, to see all of his hopes dashed because Fisk was one step ahead of him yet again.

* * *

 _More soon…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Poor Francine's been shot. Now on we go…_

Chapter Five

* * *

The hotel clerk got one look at Matt and changed his aim, unloading the gun in his direction. The man was no marksman and Matt could predict his movements well enough. He disarmed the clerk and knocked him unconscious with only a minor graze to his upper shoulder, although it was a bit closer to his neck than he would have liked.

His heart sinking lower and lower, Matt walked back to Francine. He fell to his knees beside her. She didn't have long.

"Francine, where are the files you kept?" They were his only hope and he needed to know where they were before Fisk and Owlsley got to them. They'd probably already scoured her apartment.

Francine was gasping, her damaged lungs filling with fluid. Matt knew the feeling of not being able to breathe and, for the first time, felt real pity for her.

"Promise… me…"

"Where are the files, Francine?"

"Kill… him…"

"The files!" he said desperately.

"Promise… kill… all…"

Her gasping became a gurgling wheeze and then that too dwindled away. Matt had nothing left but to listen as her heart stopped as well.

Nothing. Again, he was left with nothing.

Matt stiffened at the sound of movement to his left. There was a stairwell and someone was crouched on the landing above.

"I called the cops!" The voice was young and scared.

Matt pursed his lips. It was a long time since he'd been that young. His youth and innocence had been taken early. The fear, though, that was the real difference. The kid should be running, but he was paralyzed by fear, hiding at the top of the stairs.

When Matt lost his sight, he'd had to learn a lot of things all at once. One of the most important was not to be tentative when he moved or went out. He'd had to learn that bruises, bumps and cuts were going to happen. That couldn't stop him from moving, from going out, from doing what needed to be done.

 _Three steps between his bed and the dresser in his room at the orphanage. Fifteen steps down the hall to the bathroom. Twelve stairs down to the first floor. He knew these things and he had to move with the confidence of that knowledge. Out in the world, he had his ears and his cane. He had to trust them and keep moving._

" _You must walk by faith, not by sight," Sister Mary-Peter had encouraged, "as the good Lord says. Besides, ninety-nine percent of the world will practically jump into traffic to get out of the way of a blind person coming their way."_

" _Even in New York, Sister?"_

" _Even here," the old nun had assured him. "Life will never be easy for you, child. You will have to make of it what you can. Ask for help where you must, but make your own way wherever possible."_

 _She couldn't know that he could "see" the wrinkles on her ancient face as the air caught and moved across her parched skin. He could hear the murmur in her failing heart. Nevertheless, he took her words as gospel. Knowledge, confidence, faith… not sight._

This boy could have used a lecture or two from a nun.

Matt stepped over Francine's body and vaulted the stairs two at a time. It had him puffing with the effort and he distantly wondered how long he could stay upright. It didn't matter. This had to be done.

The kid yelped when Matt appeared in front of him. Too late, he started to run, but Matt grabbed him and held him in place, a hand on each forearm to keep him from taking a swing.

"Please, don't kick me," Matt said breathlessly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're… you're the vigilante guy," the kid said. He quit struggling and Matt released him, stepping back and pressing a hand to his injured side.

"Did you see what happened?" Matt asked.

The guy shook his head. "Saw you come in right when the lady got it."

"You didn't actually see who shot her?"

"No, but I heard…"

Matt stopped him there. "Go back to your room. When the cops show up-"

"I… I didn't call them," the kid said nervously. "I didn't have time. I was just trying to scare you off."

"That's ok. They're coming anyway." Matt could hear the sirens. Someone else must have reported hearing the shots. The police had probably already been in the area looking for them anyway. "Better they don't know anything about you. Go back to your room. When the cops show up, if they come to your room, tell them you heard the shots, but didn't see who had the gun. You didn't want to get involved and locked yourself in your room."

"But-"

"If you want to stay alive, you didn't see anything. And it's the truth, kid. Tell the truth and stay safe. Go lock yourself in your room."

Matt always tried to tell the truth. It had been drummed into him from an early age that it was a sin, a _mortal_ sin, to knowingly lie, to lead others astray through pre-meditation. Matt had become a master at the art of keeping quiet and letting others draw their own conclusions. He smiled, or shrugged and let them think what they wanted, or simply let them wonder. He did what he could not to outright lie.

" _What happened to your eye?"_

" _I wasn't paying attention last night. It's my fault."_

Matt supposed in the grand scheme of things it probably amounted to the same thing, a lie of omission, rather than commission. Foggy certainly held him accountable for his silence. No doubt, God did as well.

The Devil, father of lies… always nipping at Matt's heels. Or maybe he already had a firm hold. It was harder and harder to tell.

Matt could hear the police coming closer, maybe two blocks away now. He counted… one, two… three cruisers. Pretty impressive on such short notice. They'd definitely already been in the area looking for Francine. They were about to find her, too.

"Go," Matt ordered the kid, and proving that he had at least lived in Hell's Kitchen long enough to know the way things worked, he bolted back down the hall and into his room. Matt heard the lock slide home and took that as his own signal to leave.

Matt tilted his head to the side, this way and that, listening, feeling, taking in as much of his surroundings as he could. Up. He would definitely have to go up and out. He knew the rooftops as well as anything else, so it wasn't a problem, but… he was bleeding, and it didn't seem to be stopping. Climbing and bleeding didn't usually go well together. Nevertheless, Matt headed up the stairs.

Matt had just staggered out onto the roof when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out while he sidled closer to the edge of the roof. The cruisers were just pulling up, not directly in front of the hotel, but a little way down the block. The policemen hurried from their vehicles and headed for the door, guns already drawn.

Several went inside and almost immediately, Matt heard the crackle of their radios with the requests for an ambulance as well as people higher on the food chain to handle a homicide. It took more than just a patrolman or two to cover up a murder. It took a detective, forensics, a coroner… probably more people that Matt didn't even know about. It took so many corrupt people that Matt suddenly felt winded at the daunting task, a task that he kept _failing_. When he finally got a step up on Fisk, it turned out Fisk was already ten steps ahead of him.

Matt answered his phone, trying to remain quiet as he moved toward the next building. If the police made a token effort of searching for a shooter, since they certainly were going to ignore the very guilty clerk, someone would get around to searching the roof.

"Hello?"

" _Mr. Murdock?"_

"Tim, I told you to turn off your cell. They can track it."

" _Have you talked to Franky? She's not answering her phone. She always answers, even if it's just a text to tell me to leave her alone_."

"Tim, you have to shut off your phone and get inside somewhere." Matt could hear that Mr. Thomas was still walking outside.

" _Look, this is nuts. I'm almost home. I'll talk to Franky and we'll figure everything out. It'll be fine. She's probably already there and not answering because she's so pissed. Sorry I bothered you_."

"Tim, _no_."

But it was too late. He'd already hung up. He'd simply spent too long as an abused spouse. He couldn't break the cycle and it was going to get him killed. Matt tried to calculate the time it would take to get back to their apartment, if he even could, if it would do any good at all.

"He's on the roof, northwest corner."

The whisper was quiet, but Matt heard it clear as day. Fisk's men were looking for him as much as for Francine and they'd sent someone up into a building across the street as a lookout.

Matt immediately headed in the opposite direction. He jumped onto the neighboring roof, which was lower and would block him from view. The next building, however, was too far for him to jump. Matt climbed over the side and down the metal fire escape.

Two thirds of the way down the ladder, a rusted metal rung snapped beneath his weight. Matt fell to one side, but caught himself with his hands. The shot he'd taken to the shoulder must've been a little deeper than he thought, because that arm gave way. He swung wildly to one side, gripping with only one hand. That caused him to bang his already injured side into the edge of the metal ladder, and that was it. He lost his grip and fell.

Matt slammed onto the dirty alley floor. It knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment his hearing turned into a buzzing nothingness that deafened him. The effect was beyond disorienting to have a second sense desert him, one he relied upon so heavily. He could still feel the air around him, feel it move and use it to sense the alley around him, but for the most part he felt doubly blinded by the raging pain of his battered body.

It took several precious seconds for his hearing to return. In that time, he was able to concentrate and gauge his injuries. Shoulder, side, ribs, a nice concussion now and his hip had taken the brunt of the fall before his head had connected with the pavement.

Matt rolled onto his relatively unhurt side and pushed himself up onto all fours. His head spun and he once again had to hold still for a moment. Steps outside the alley, however, meant he was out of options and out of time.

Matt staggered to his feet and ordered himself into motion, trying to remember where exactly he was and the best direction to go. He could feel the blood sliding down his side, soaking into his pants. He was still dizzy and he didn't know if it was the concussion or the blood loss, probably both.

The steps were getting closer, his pursuers on his heels. He stumbled in the opposite direction, trying desperately to think of a place to go to ground.

He wasn't going to make it. He couldn't get to his apartment. The office was too far. Foggy's place was too, not that Matt was even sure he'd let him in.

The church. It was between where he was and everywhere he could find safety. It was the only thing he could think of.

Matt gritted his teeth against the pain and turned in the direction of the church. He didn't know what the good Lord would think, but Father Lantom was not going to be pleased.

* * *

 _More soon…_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

* * *

Matt had been right. Father Lantom was less than pleased at his appearance. He'd let Matt in and tried to slow the bleeding, but he was not amused.

"So you want to tell me how this happened?"

"Client," he murmured. Matt felt the priest pull the mask from his face. He let out the barest chuff of a laugh. "Lost F-Foggy, but found a client."

Father Lantom evidently decided to let it go for the moment, because he didn't press for further details, only busied himself checking for other injuries. Matt was halfway to unconscious when a loud knock on the rectory door brought him back awake. He tried to sit up, but Father Lantom stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Stay there," he said. "I'll be back in a minute."

Matt listened as the priest walked out of the room and down a short hall to the accompaniment of another round of loud banging on the door with an added, "NYPD!"

Father Lantom slid back the bolt and opened the door. "Yes?"

"Sorry to wake you, Father."

"You didn't wake me. What is it?"

"We were following a suspect. He came this way. Have you seen anything?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you," the priest replied and Matt frowned unhappily at the non-answer. He knew all about those.

"Ok, Father. Do you mind if we look around?"

"You can search outside, but no one steps a foot inside the church."

"But-"

"I just left Mrs. O'Connor a few minutes ago praying for her son who isn't going to live out the week. I will not have her disturbed, even if I would allow a search of the house of God, which I won't. I will not have the Sanctuary desecrated by armed men. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," the officer answered, cowed by the reprimand.

"And I haven't seen you at Mass for several weeks, Anthony."

"Sorry, Father. Work and all. I… I gotta go. We're looking for-"

"I hope to see you Sunday."

"Yes, Father," the policeman said and scurried away.

Father Lantom walked back and knelt beside Matt. "Over the years, I've found the fastest way to get rid of someone is to tell them they need to go to church more often. Sad to say, but it works wonders."

"Thank you," Matt said sincerely. "I'm… I'm sorry you had to do that." Matt was used to telling half-truths. He hated that he'd put the priest in a position where he had to do the same.

"I didn't lie, if that's what you're worried about." Father Lantom didn't sound troubled at all. "I told the absolute truth, Matthew. I couldn't help him. You came here seeking asylum and I granted it. It's not used often, but the church can offer its protection."

"Sanctuary," Matt whispered. He could feel unconsciousness sneaking up on him again, tugging at him and urging him to give in.

"From time to time, the good Lord offers refuge for more than just the soul."

Matt could hear the smile in Father Lantom's voice. He allowed it to soothe him, allowed what the priest had said to soothe him as well. The night before, Karen had tried to help him, assuring him that he wasn't alone. Father Lantom was doing the same, quietly reminding him, as he always did, that Matt was never alone, that even in the worst of times, there was refuge for his soul… and sometimes, he thought with a smile, a place to go when he'd been shot.

"Let's get you up on the bed," Father Lantom said, pulling Matt by the arm. For an older man, he was surprisingly strong and Matt hated to admit how much he needed the assistance. He just hadn't had enough time to heal, or to meditate to help with the healing. Even what time he'd had to meditate had been troubled and nearly useless.

Matt settled onto the bed and that act alone was enough. His body completely relaxed and Matt could feel all of the sensory information that usually bombarded him fade into the distance. He was done for the night and had to hope a priest's say-so was enough to keep the police away.

"Rest," Father Lantom ordered, and as so often happened when the Father spoke to him, he obeyed.

* * *

Matt opened his eyes, not that it was a useful action when he woke up, but it was a natural reflex. In an instant, his body sent a massive amount of information about how unhappy it was, followed by the sounds, smells, tastes and sensations of the world around him. Waking up was rarely a pleasant experience.

He was still in Father Lantom's room. His shirt had been removed and there was a wide bandage completely wrapped around his midsection, as well as another smaller bandage stuck to his shoulder.

"Good morning, Matthew."

"Morning, Father."

"How do you feel?"

"Like my night was so ugly I had to get to church."

The priest snorted. "Had a few of those myself." He held up a hand. "In my younger days, of course."

"Did…" Matt set his hand against the bullet wound in his side. "Did a friend of mine come to-" But he was immediately reminded that Claire had said she was going out of town for a while.

Father Lantom shook his head. "I did what I could." When Matt raised his eyebrows, the priest added, "I haven't always had a cushy job with an espresso machine, you know."

Matt sighed. "Thank you."

"I've wrapped your ribs pretty tightly. You shouldn't leave them that way too long, or you'll run the risk of pneumonia."

"It'll help me get home if they're wrapped."

"That's what I figured."

Matt couldn't fail to hear the censure in the priest's tone. He normally acted as a partial, but patient sounding board. That was before he'd had a wounded, masked vigilante show up on his doorstep, however. Or perhaps Matt's guilt was making him read too much into it. It might be closer to sadness than censure. Whatever the case, Matt decided he'd better sit up and face the music if the priest was going to lecture him.

Father Lantom cleared his throat. "Last night… you said you tried to save someone."

Matt pursed his lips. "I tried. She could have helped take down…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." None of it did. Matt was almost certain Francine's husband was dead, too. Men like Fisk and Owlsley were thorough and Timothy had headed home despite Matt's warning.

"Matthew, you know… as far as the saving business goes… There is Someone who already has that job. He's pretty good at it."

Matt had to smile at that. "I know, Father."

"I can definitely hear a but."

"Eternal salvation is completely in His ball court, Father. But here… if there's anything I can do… it's… I have to help. It's our duty to act."

"He calls us all to do the work we can do." Father Lantom paused, gathering his thoughts. "Like the faithful steward, _to whom much is given, from him much will be required._ "

Matt nodded. He'd definitely been given gifts above and beyond. But Father Lantom wasn't finished.

"We still have to answer for _how_ we do the work."

Matt remained silent. It was the same thing he'd been arguing about with himself since the first time he tracked down that child molester and nearly killed him. It was his duty to help, to use what he'd been given to do what the law couldn't, but there were limits. There _had_ to be limits.

"Protecting the weak is one thing," Father Lantom continued, "but vengeance is His."

Matt would like to say that what he meted out was out of righteous anger, that it was justice that could not be found otherwise. Yet, if he was honest, he knew it wasn't always that. He felt the need for revenge growing inside him, kept just beneath the surface until it clawed its way out, ready to tear into those who deserved it.

"Matthew?" the Father prompted, always coaxing, always quietly teaching.

"I'm trying, Father."

"All right, then." Father Lantom stood, satisfied, at least for the moment. "I need to go. There are some clothes from the donation box on the table to your left."

"What time is it?"

"Ten."

"In the morning?"

Father Lantom nodded. "Guess you needed the rest."

Matt pursed his lips noncommittally. "Thank you, Father. For everything."

He sighed. "I have to go. I need to make the arrangements for Ben Urich."

"Ah." Matt really wasn't sure what else to say. Father Lantom was very good at putting pieces together. He probably guessed at what had sent Matt out into the streets the night before.

The priest opened the door. "I assume I'll see you at the funeral?"

"Yes," Matt replied. "He… he was a brave man."

"He will be missed." Father Lantom paused in the doorway. "You know who killed him?"

"I do," Matt answered simply.

Lantom nodded, all kinds of words hanging in the air between them. "I'll see you soon, then."

Matt wasn't sure if he meant at the funeral or for confession after he did what had to be done. A priest couldn't exactly come out and ask Matt to do something about a murderer.

Father Lantom left and closed the door behind him. Matt took that as his cue to leave. He stood and fumbled with the clothing that had been left for him until he hopefully had all telltale signs of blood, injury and vigilante activities covered.

Matt left the same way he'd arrived, through the window. His chest hurt when he moved. Everything hurt, really, but it didn't matter. He'd overstepped his bounds already. The devil had no business being anywhere near a church. Whether it was too soon to move or not, he had to go.

* * *

 _The wrap-up soon…_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

* * *

Matt was padding back from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand when he heard Karen coming down the hall toward his door. He'd spent most of the day lying on the sofa with nothing to do but rest and generally wallow in misery. He hadn't been able to come up with anything useful to do. He hadn't even cared enough to change out of the clothes Father Lantom had given him, despite their smell. He hadn't showered though, so that wasn't helping.

Karen knocked on the door and waited for several seconds. She knew him too well though because she immediately knocked again and called, "Matt? You home?"

Matt sighed. He set his cup down on the sofa table, picked up his glasses, and shuffled toward the door. He pulled it open and tried to appear normal. "Hey," he said, and it sounded tired even to his ears.

"Matt?"

He cocked his head to the side. "What is it?"

"You umm…"

"What?"

"Never really pegged you for a Captain America fan."

Matt cocked his head to the side in confusion. "I don't-"

"Your shirt."

Matt tilted his head down, but of course he couldn't see anything. He ran his hand over the plasticized logo on the front. "I, uh… borrowed it." Apparently Father Lantom had a sense of humor. "Come in," he said, too tired to remain standing in the doorway. She was lucky he'd already been standing or he might have just left her knocking until she gave up and left. He tried to walk more normally, but he headed straight for the sofa and sat down, grabbing his glass of water on the way. His hip and side sent loud distress signals to his concussed brain, but he tried to cover it all for Karen's sake.

"You look like crap," Karen said.

"Yeah, well… Been a lousy couple of days."

"At least you're not drinking again," she commented. "Unless that's vodka."

"Just water," he replied with a tiny smirk.

"Where did you go yesterday?"

Matt sighed. "I decided to do some work. After Ben… I had to do something to keep busy."

"Yeah," she said, nodding in understanding. "I get it. You know… you didn't have to leave."

"You and Foggy knew Ben better than I did. You two needed…" Matt pursed his lips. "With what's going on with Foggy, I was just making things worse. You didn't need to deal with that, too, so…"

"It'll never get better until you two talk. It's as good a reason as any. Maybe better."

Matt gave her a smile, although he couldn't make a real effort. "We'll see." At the moment, all he could remember was Foggy's disdain-filled, _"I think you've done enough."_

Karen shook her head as if she despaired of the two men ever getting their acts together, then she frowned. "Wait a minute. You worked? The only client we have is Mr. Thomas."

"I went to see his wife, Francine."

"You _what_?"

"It doesn't matter." Matt ran a hand across his mouth and jaw in frustration. "She's dead." Matt saw no reason to hide the truth from her, at least within reason. "Mr. Thomas told me she worked at Silver & Brent for Leland Owlsley, so… Fisk, indirectly."

"So you went off without telling anyone?" she asked, her tone definitely implying he'd been an idiot.

"I caught up with her as she was leaving work and she was not happy to see me. She hit me with her briefcase." He pointed to a visible injury on his head. "They found out Timothy came to our office and thought he was spilling secrets. They'd just fired her and ordered her out of the building."

"What happened?" Karen asked, her face pained.

"We both know Fisk doesn't leave loose ends. I tried to talk to her and tell her how much danger she was in. She was going to go to the Feds and tell them everything she knew. She was going to hide out-"

"Let me guess. At a little pay by the hour hotel at the edge of Hell's Kitchen."

That brought him up short. "How do you know that?"

"Because Mr. Thomas is dead, too. I got a call from the police this morning at the office. They found a man with a piece of paper in his pocket with our office name and number, but no ID. The police wanted to know if I could tell them who he was. They described him and I knew instantly. Then they wanted to know why he came to us."

"What did you tell them?"

"Attorney-Client privilege and all. I didn't want to tell them anything."

"But?"

"But they said he was dead. He was at a crappy hotel where it looked like he'd shot a woman and then himself."

Matt clenched his teeth in frustration. Fisk's people had definitely set the scene properly. "So what did you say?"

"I… I was so rattled… I said he came to us to represent him on a domestic battery charge. They did a lot of uh-huh-ing and saying that fit, even a snide comment about lawyers protecting a stalker."

"Convenient," Matt shook his head, "especially since he wasn't there when she died. Pretty sure it was the clerk who shot her."

"You were _there_? Why didn't you tell the police?"

"Funnily enough, blind guys don't get much credit as eyewitnesses."

"But-"

"The cops were on Fisk's payroll. They took over the scene and they couldn't have cared less what I had to say. There was nothing I could do or prove. It was like Ben all over again, or Mrs. Cardenas, no matter what we know." His voice had gotten quieter and quieter until it just trailed away.

"Where did you go?" she asked. When he raised his eyebrows she pointed and said, "Your shirt."

"My priest. He got it out of the donation box. Mine was ruined. I spent all night at the church."

"Did he give you any advice?"

"We talked about Ben and about…" He pursed his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase it. "About doing the best we could and letting God handle the rest."

Karen nodded. "Kinda wish He'd put the smackdown on a few people a little sooner rather than later."

Matt frowned. "I'm sure Mr. Thomas would have agreed."

"About that… Was it ok that I told the police about why he came to us?" she asked nervously.

Matt didn't really feel like nitpicking about attorney-client privilege. "The charges were public record."

"Ok. I didn't…" She shook her head. "I just hate that Fisk won again."

"At least they know Mr. Thomas didn't spill any corporate secrets or…"

"Or they'd kill us, too."

There was a waver in her voice as she said it. She brushed a tear away, and Matt frowned. There was something else, something she wasn't saying and Matt wished she would tell him. He couldn't really push though, since he was in much the same boat. He just couldn't tell her some things if he wanted her to stay safe. It left them both in a holding pattern of silence and inaction. Like everything else, there was nothing he could do about it.

Matt felt the despair, the sheer weight of failure, of the futility of his efforts, of the lack of any idea of what to do pressing on his chest until he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Hey," Karen sat down on the sofa beside him. "I thought we talked about this."

"What?"

"You've got that look again," she said quietly and took his hand in hers. "You're not alone. You have to remember that. We'll think of something."

"That won't help Mr. Thomas. He's on record as a murderer and we can't prove otherwise."

Karen squeezed his hand. "When we find someone who will turn on Fisk, the whole house of cards is going to collapse. When that happens, it will all come out. Whoever killed Mrs. Thomas, or whoever gave that order, or… something. It will all come out. We just have to remember that."

Matt huffed out a ghost of a laugh. "It's no wonder you and Foggy get along so well. You're the biggest optimists in Hell's Kitchen."

"I try," she said. "Even with all this."

Matt remembered what she'd said. _The world fell apart. Didn't you notice?_ He knew she was struggling too, especially with the loss of Ben. She was still trying though.

She let go of his hand, gave him an awkward pat on the knee, and stood, once again reestablishing the boundaries between them. "And that's why I'm sure you and Foggy are going to get past this."

He wanted to believe it. He did. Foggy was… everything. He'd been his friend, his partner, his safety net, his sounding board, his personal shopper, his mother hen, his cheerleader, his eyes on the world. In a certain sense, Matt felt as if he'd been blinded again not to have Foggy with him.

Foggy and now Karen, the offices of Nelson & Murdoch, they were his place of safety. They were his sanctuary. They offered asylum from the madness and murderers of the world.

No matter how often he failed, no matter how often he lost, he couldn't give that up. He had to keep going. He had to find a way to convince Foggy to stay. He had to find a way to stop Fisk and Owlsley and every last person on their payroll, from the politicians all the way to the little guy on the street doing the grunt work. Until they could be stopped legally, Matt had to keep at _his_ work. For Ben Urich, for Elena Cardenas, for Tim and Francine Thomas, for every single victim of Wilson Fisk and his associates.

"Matt?" Karen asked when he was silent for too long.

"I won't give up," he finally said.

" _We_ won't," she corrected.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe this was a nuthouse they were running, that sort of asylum rather than the other. It didn't matter. Maybe their nuthouse offered the safety to get the job done.

Karen stepped back and smoothed down her skirt. "I need to get some sleep so I can be back at the office early, especially since neither of my bosses shows up these days. You never know when a client might stop by."

That brought an honest smile to his face. "Crazier things have happened."

"Tomorrow…"

Matt raised his eyebrows.

"The funeral… It's why I came by. It's tomorrow afternoon, graveside services only. I couldn't get you on the phone and…"

"Father Lantom mentioned he had a meeting to make the arrangements." Matt was surprised it was so soon. He hadn't thought the police would release the body for a few days. Then again, Fisk or Owlsley, whoever made the call, would have wanted it all taken care of as quickly as possible.

"I can come here first. We could go together?" she suggested.

"What about Foggy?" he asked, once again surprised.

"He said he'll be there, but with how you and Foggy are… I thought…"

It all became clear. She thought he would need her as his guide at the cemetery. That was normally Foggy's job and Foggy couldn't stand to be anywhere near him right now. "It sounds good. I'll see you then."

* * *

Matt stood beside Karen, both of them at the farthest edge of the semicircle that had formed around the coffin. Father Lantom finished the short service and Karen left to speak with Ben's widow. Matt wondered yet again what had happened to Foggy. He should have been there for Karen and all he'd left was a vague message. No matter how angry he was with Matt, he'd never been so mean-spirited as to hurt one person because he was mad at another. Something else had to be up.

Matt tried to remember the stages of grief. Denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance… He didn't know about those. Standing at Ben's graveside, he couldn't manage anything but anger. Matt lived in a world on fire, and the flames were licking at him, pushing him to move, to act. He just wasn't sure what to do yet.

Matt turned away from the coffin and tried to school his emotions as Father Lantom approached. The priest had helped him, offered comfort and assistance where he could. He didn't need to bear the brunt of Matt's anger.

"How are you holding up?" the priest asked.

Matt took the question at face value. Father Lantom was a good man, a caring man and he genuinely wanted to know, in this case both physically and mentally. Either way, the answer was the same. "Like a good Catholic boy."

"That bad, huh?"

Matt's wounds would heal well enough. Neither of the bullet wounds was disastrous. He had a feeling it had been more shock than anything else. Right now, the greater pain was that he was standing at the grave of another person who'd been trying to help those around him.

"He was a good man and he's gone, because I haven't stopped what's happening to this city." Matt knew his anger was leaking through, but he couldn't help it.

"You can't put that on yourself, Matthew. You've done everything you can, a lot you probably shouldn't have."

Matt _could_ put that on himself. He'd taken it on the second he'd chosen to put on the mask. Matt could because he might be the only one able to stop Fisk.

Matt could put it on himself because he'd taken Francine to that hotel that was basically a kill box. He'd talked to Ben and told him everything the devil had learned. He was standing at Ben's grave because of it.

"And here we are."

Karen reappeared, reaching out to let Matt know she was there. He let her lead him through the minefield of headstones and he thought it was appropriate. His failure was measured in bodies.

They took a taxi back to the office. Matt decided he would stay for a few hours and then he would go to the gym. He really needed to hit something. Maybe then something would come to him.

* * *

 _And there you have it. Matt's going to go hit something, have a chat with Foggy, and then put the smackdown on Fisk. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
